


The Brush of a Blade

by Just_Another_Day



Series: Cartography [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Bloodplay, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, Knifeplay, M/M, Mentions of Self-Harm Ideation, Post-Canon, Scarification, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, unsafe sexual practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 05:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17298701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/pseuds/Just_Another_Day
Summary: "I won't hurt you.""Oh really? Not even if I ask you to?"





	The Brush of a Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags.

Damen's fingers automatically curled around the hilt of the knife the moment Laurent pressed it against his palm, an instinctive habit born of years spent treating a sword as an extension of his arm. Laurent then trailed his fingertip down over the blunt length of steel opposite the sharp edge, gently applying pressure to steer the blade downwards until the tip of it just barely scraped over Laurent's skin uncovered skin. If Damen shifted the knife over a few inches, or even just twisted his wrist to just the right angle before applying pressure, he could probably manage to clip Laurent's heart, and at the very least would puncture a lung. Either way, it could have effectively been Laurent's life held in Damen's hand. But it wasn't. Damen wouldn't do that. Laurent didn't have the slightest doubt of that. Even when they'd been ostensibly enemies he hadn't, and by now Damen would rather turn the knife on himself.

Damen's thoughts had obviously traversed a similar path, for he said, frowning, "Haven't we already done this before?"

Not quite like this, they hadn't, with both of them naked and Damen already visibly at least half-interested despite this unexpected new course Laurent had silently suggested they should embark upon. "I didn't use the weapon then, and I have far less reason to do so now. I won't hurt you." 

Unimpressed, Laurent said, "Oh really? Not even if I ask you to?"

"What?"

"I think you heard me perfectly." 

Laurent leaned forward slightly, not quite enough to cut himself when Damen was applying almost no pressure with the knife, but in a clear demonstration of what Laurent wanted.

The change in Damen's face was a slow morph. There was shock, as well as a narrowing of the eyes that suggested disbelief that Laurent was suggesting such a thing, or perhaps doubt that he'd correctly understood what Laurent was actually asking for. But there was no outright denial or disgust. And Laurent knew Damen's reactions well enough by now to catch the dilation of his eyes and the careful (or Damen's version of careful, anyway) schooling of his face. He was interested. Though it would remain to be seen if he was interested _enough_ to go along with it. Laurent hoped so. It was the only way he could see this actually happening.

Before Laurent had thought to approach it this way, he had considered just convincing Damen that him leaving wounds on Laurent's skin would serve as a kind of penance for the scars Laurent had been responsible for leaving on Damen's back. It would finally make them even in that respect, Laurent would have suggested, in much the same way as Laurent had intended serving Damen in the baths months ago to counter the way Laurent himself had once been served by Damen. The baths had been different, though. Laurent realised that. Damen had seen nothing potentially damaging in the way Laurent had gone to his knees at Damen's suggestion back then, or he wouldn't have asked for it. Hurting Laurent on purpose just for the sake of balancing the scales wasn't something to which Damen was likely to consent. Damen would just reassure Laurent that they were already on equal footing, and that they were past that time on the cross. He would pull Laurent close and coax him into their usual soft caresses. Laurent did always enjoy it when Damen demonstrated his endless tenderness with him, of course, but that wasn't even close to what he was after tonight. 

But on the other hand, Laurent had known without even really having to consider it that telling Damen the truth would be a mistake. Laurent had had to conceal things from Damen so infrequently of late that he'd seemingly grown out of the habit of it, but this would have to be an exception. Laurent could barely imagine just coming out and telling Damen that when Damen continued to sleep heavily in the half hour or so after streams of dawn sunlight filtered through gossamer bed curtains naturally woke Laurent each morning, Laurent often whiled away the time surveying the sight of Damen's back with a strange covetousness. To Laurent's eyes, each line or tangled knot of raised skin on Damen's body was a badge proclaiming both his suffering and his survival. They were a physical manifestation of his experience. Three stab wounds to his front and a web of interlaced whip marks over his back mapped out over a decade of fighting, betrayal and retribution. Laurent's skin, by contrast, was a mockery of seemingly untouched pale expanses; a lie. 

Damen wouldn't have appreciated it if Laurent told him that the reason for the knife was so that Laurent could at least start to feel like the shell of his body matched the inside. The marks wouldn't be directly attributable to the experiences the way Damen's were, but it was the closest Laurent could get now, years later. So instead, Laurent allowed a lie to evolve mostly through implication. 

Laurent had pointedly chosen his moment to broach this. They were both already undressed by the time Laurent had fetched the knife, and now Laurent's bare thighs were spread suggestively against the backdrop of their silk sheets. Damen's expectations were already set, and his mind would therefore likely steer itself towards the idea that Laurent wanted this for pleasurable reasons. And it was no coincidence that there had been a pet performance along similar lines – not with anything as potentially permanent as blades, but rather using fingernails long and sharp enough to visibly hurt even though the weals they left would fade away to nothingness over time – that had played out before them on the last night of their visit to Ravenel just a few days ago. The concept of pleasure mixed with pain should be fresh in Damen's mind, easily accessible. Hopefully he would think that Laurent just wanted to try something a little risqué. To test out whether pain really did heighten pleasure, or whatever concept Damen, as a young Akielon with too much time on his hands and too many lovers at his disposal, might himself have already thought to experiment with in the past, if Laurent's suspicions about Damen's reaction to the proposal were correct.

When Damen questioned, with his eagerness only a hair's breadth beneath his serious surface, "Why would you ask me for that?" it was clear that he already thought he knew the answer. 

Laurent wrapped his hand as far around Damen's much larger one as he could manage and encouraged it forwards. Just slightly. Just enough that the knife Damen held did its work. A bead of red expanded like a teardrop around the knife tip, gravity threatening to make it drip down Laurent's chest. 

"Because I like that," Laurent said. Which was ultimately true. Just not for the reason Damen would assume.

Damen's eyes were fixated on that droplet, his mouth falling slightly open. 

"And because I trust you to do this," Laurent added. And that too was the truth. 

Technically Laurent could have done it himself. That would have meant going through the awkwardness and potential arguments of having to explain it to Damen afterwards when Laurent inevitably had to bare the bandages and cuts to Damen's gaze, but Laurent wouldn't have let that alone stop him. In fact, Laurent had even thought of doing something like this himself when he was fifteen and finally starting to come to terms with how damaged he was inside. The control inherent in it appealed to him then. But there had been sword practice to think of, which injuries would have hindered. And Laurent had balked at the idea of weakening himself in any way when he'd had Uncle still to contend with and the court openly speculating and questioning even the slightest stutter in the rhythm of his breathing, never mind any noticeable winces or hitching of his movements. And Laurent – both back then and now – didn't feel the same absolute certainty that no serious harm would come from it as he did now, when the knife was in Damen's hand rather than his own. Laurent trusted Damen even more than he did himself in many things, this included. 

The declaration of faith combined with whatever personal interest Damen had in the idea was apparently enough to convince Damen to at least give it a try, thankfully. Laurent doubted that the breathless quality he picked up on in Damen's voice when he acquiesced was just in his own imagination. 

"You'll tell me the second you want to stop?" Damen checked.

"Of course." Laurent carefully didn't mention how doubtful it was that he _would_ want to stop, no matter how many times the blade kissed into his flesh. At least not before Damen himself would insist on putting an end to it, which Laurent knew would happen well before there was any real cause to be concerned for Laurent's well-being. Knowing that, it would probably take quite a few nights to build up to Laurent being able to stretch out and stare down at his body with satisfaction. That was fine, though, as long as Damen was up for that. No matter how long it took, Laurent had never once undertaken any journey with Damen that he hadn't appreciated and ultimately enjoyed, often more than he'd ever meant to by the end. This would hopefully be no different.

Though whatever he might be suggesting to Damen, this wasn't truly about Laurent's enjoyment, so much as it was about chasing away the spectre of feeling like this untainted skin shouldn't rightly belong to him. 

At first there was certainly no pleasure at all. The sensation of Damen so-cautiously drawing the sharp edge over Laurent's skin wasn't particularly rewarding from a sexual perspective, though it _was_ gratifying to look down and see the results. It hurt even, or perhaps especially, when the cut was kept shallow enough that it might not even scar very visibly if Laurent used the same salves that had been applied to Damen's back for weeks on end. It stung enough to pry a soft hiss from between Laurent's teeth. 

But then Damen let the knife fall away, just for a bare second, so that he could lean forward and lick the wound he'd just created. That was unexpected. Laurent tensed, uncertain. He expected to feel revulsion. It was absent. 

Damen collected the blood on his tongue in much the same way as Damen sometimes traced over Laurent's sweat when it formed like streams on the maps they'd once pored over together. Or, Laurent thought suddenly, the way Damen's tongue sometimes determined chased down the streaks of Laurent's spend from his still-too-sensitive skin after Damen had fucked him to the point that Laurent, sobbing with relief, pulsed messily all over himself. Laurent's cock twitched upwards at that thought combined with the sight and feel of Damen's mouth smoothing its way over Laurent's chest. Damen's tongue pressing against the cut itself made it sting doubly. That burning sensation was offset, though, by Damen's free hand reaching downwards. His callused fingers started working over Laurent's hardening length in a way that both distracted Laurent from the pain and changed the texture of the sensation somehow.

The knife carved another line once Damen was done lavishing attention on the first. This time it traced around the tiny curve of softness that had recently formed around Laurent's belly. Since his Ascension, there had been endless hours spent sitting in meetings and at banquet tables where not even a year ago – before Damen – he would have consistently spent time riding and practising his swordplay for hours in pursuit of things that he now either no longer wanted or had already achieved. The wound Damen impressed into Laurent's skin hurt even more over that more supple area of his body. There was no opportunity for the increase in pain to make Laurent's arousal flag in the least, though, for Damen made a point of not letting up with his other hand. It also helped that he pressed kisses that Laurent didn't know whether to take as apologies or flirtations to the skin around the slice, and then treated the cut itself as tenderly as he had the first. 

Damen's mouth sought out the blood that streamed from the second wound, and then the third, as well. Laurent wouldn't go so far as to suggest that Damen savoured it the same way as he did with those wines that he claimed were fit for Kings, even though to Laurent they might as well have been swill better dumped surreptitiously into the garden beds. It probably, Laurent considered, tasted not entirely dissimilar to if Damen had just licked up the blade itself: metallic and not overly welcoming. Yet Damen's face didn't scrunch up at the taste, and he kept seeking it. Laurent didn't know what to make of that, other than to be grateful that it might prove easier to persuade Damen to revisit this kind of activity in future, if he was invested in playing his own part.

The cuts each came minutes apart, with plenty of time to recover and prepare for the next. The sequence Damen followed was suspiciously effective, and seemed well-thought-out for something that Laurent had never suggested until tonight. Laurent wouldn't have suspected it before, but now he would unflinchingly wager a decent percentage of the royal coffers that this wasn't the first time Damen had taken up a blade for reasons other than violence, defence or training. His sure movements and the lack of hesitation in the way he both inflicted and treated the wounds spoke of experience.

The cuts were also each physically spread out from each other was well, far enough so that none of them overlapped, and so Damen didn't ever pull painfully at one while he affectionately concentrated on another. Well-spaced or not, though, the marks were all still confined to the front and sides of Laurent's torso. Laurent wanted to see them up his thighs as well, overwriting past touches the same way as he could practically feel the one over his hipbone doing. That would have to wait for another day, it seemed. Few as they might still be compared with Damen's scars, they did still start adding up eventually over the half hour. Laurent felt light-headed by the time some interminable period had passed since the first press of metal to his naked skin. He couldn't be sure whether that was due to blood loss, for all it seemed like there hadn't been that much shed in total, or just because he had been painfully hard for the majority of the time that Damen had been tending to him, with no relief. It had gotten to the point that Laurent's mind really was starting to interpret the sensations he was feeling in confusing ways that Laurent hadn't _really_ been prepared for.

Though it wasn't until Damen carefully traced the outline where the skin shifted from white to pink in a circle around Laurent's nipple that a tear finally squeezed itself from Laurent's eye, for it was so much more sensitive there. Laurent had to clamp down hard on seemingly every muscle in his body to keep himself from arching his back dangerously while Damen finished the half-moon impression. Though if he hadn't, Laurent couldn't say for sure whether he would have instinctively moved into the feeling or away from it. It wasn't entirely pain he was experiencing now, Laurent had to admit. Laurent didn't know what to do with the overwhelming nature of it, either. He'd thought he could _play_ at being interested in that side of these kinds of proceedings, but he'd never intended it to be real. He blinked to get himself under control, but he didn't dare reach up to brush the tear away in case he drew Damen's attention to it.

Apparently it didn't matter, for Damen's grip on the knife still slackened at that moment. Laurent shook his head wordlessly to indicate that he was fine, but Damen's attention noticeably shifted nonetheless. Damen's eyes finally moved to where Laurent's cock was still captured in Damen's left hand, now only cradled motionlessly there, but somehow harder than ever due to all the other attention Laurent had been paid. 

There was a wild moment, once the entirety of Damen's attention was on Laurent's cock, that Laurent considered the idea that Damen might even think to employ the knife there as well. Laurent was oddly uncertain how he would feel about that. It would certainly be fitting, considering the purpose of the marks. Maybe someday Laurent would invite it readily. Today, though, his hands twitched as if to reach out and capture just above the hand that still loosely wielded the knife, his grasp forming a match for the gold cuff that circled Damen's other wrist. 

Laurent didn't need to do that, though, in the end. Damen discarded the knife far enough off to the side that there would be no threat of an accident, its job apparently accomplished for the night. When Damen drew the flat of his tongue over Laurent's cock, it wasn't preceded by a cut this time. Laurent's breath slid past his lips in a rush, half relief and half pleasure. When Damen pressed his tongue pointedly inwards, just slightly, it was into the dip at the head of Laurent's cock rather than into shallowly-parted skin. This felt better, but not by as much as Laurent would have predicted at the beginning of the night; he was familiar with this, but the other had been… revelatory, Laurent supposed was the word. 

Laurent jerked underneath Damen's ministrations. Usually he was better at keeping his physical reactions contained, still, even when Damen was the only one there to see or judge. But he was already on edge. And though this was hardly the first time Damen had taken Laurent most of the way into his mouth and swirled around the width of him, Laurent was feeling particularly attuned to his own senses just now, so it didn't _seem_ as mundanely familiar as it should. 

That, combined with the attention Damen had devoted to him before his mouth came into contact with Laurent's cock, was why Laurent refused to be embarrassed by how little time it then took for him to climax into Damen's mouth. He stared down at Damen, watching as a small glistening trail escaped from Damen's lips. Laurent briefly thought to draw Damen upwards so that Laurent could lick it away in a mirror of Damen's actions from earlier. And then perhaps he could do more than that for Damen as well, for he was suddenly very aware that Damen hadn't yet been satisfied as Laurent had, his cock still protruding half-hard between them, brushing against Laurent's leg.

Only seconds after that thought had occurred to Laurent, though, he could feel it slipping away. A wave of tiredness swept over Laurent starting from the very moment that Damen moved up level with Laurent and put his arms around him, rubbing his hand down Laurent's back comfortingly. Laurent hadn't even realised he was still holding so much tension in his body even after he'd peaked until suddenly it receded from him. Laurent sagged fully against Damen, lax. Laurent's chest stung as it pressed against Damen's. Laurent noted that he felt that as pain alone once more now that he'd come down from the high of pleasure. So Laurent didn't quite lean into as he might have a few minutes ago, but on the other hand, it would have taken one of the guards bursting into the room with an emergency to make Laurent pull away. Thankfully, there was no suggestion of that happening.

"Good?" Damen asked. 

Normally Laurent wouldn’t have entertained such questions, for it was usually just a matter of Damen smugly fishing for compliments. Or Laurent would have – instead of just ignoring it – actively knocked Damen back off the pedestal he'd set up for himself with an unimpressed remark. Tonight, however, Damen was clearly genuinely concerned for Laurent. Laurent, for his part, had no desire to give off the impression that this wasn't something he would want to repeat with Damen in future.

"Exceptional," Laurent answered, almost slurring the word through his sudden lethargy. 

Damen beamed at the unexpected candour. His dimple appeared right in Laurent's eye line.

Rather than taking the opportunity to brag, Damen suggested, "We should probably send a servant for a salve to see to you before you fall asleep." 

Laurent thought for a moment of refusing. A salve would help the visible remnants of this night fade more quickly and completely, so that the strokes currently painted into the canvas of Laurent's skin would leave nothing but small white scars on an off-white backdrop. They might be unnoticeable from more than a few inches away, in the end. That would seem to defeat the purpose. But, on the other hand, Laurent would know the scars were there either way, even if they were faint. Their lesser visibility wouldn't make them any less real, or take away the sense of quiet contentment Laurent got when he'd looked down the length of his own body while Damen was putting aside the knife earlier. Laurent would _know_ that his skin was no longer deceptively flawless. 

And Paschal would be annoyingly disapproving enough of this without Laurent also risking infection after the fact. It probably wasn't worth it.

Laurent thought of Damen applying the salve for him, broad hands working carefully over Laurent's chest every morning and night for weeks. At least that would be some consolation. 

"Send for it later," Laurent agreed. "After I return the favour."

Damen couldn't hold in the huff of laughter. "Not tonight, I don't think."

Laurent frowned slightly. He might not be up for a particularly vigorous fuck, or even to contribute much to a less energetic endeavour, but he wasn't completely incapable of moving, however it might have felt to him at that moment. 

Before he could say so, though, Damen said, "How about you do that next time we try this." Laurent could hear the implied question of 'if you actually want to do this again' (which, of course, Damen would soon find out that Laurent really did), but otherwise it sounded something like a promise.

That was something Laurent could happily agree to.

Still: "I could have done it." He was sleepy enough that it probably came off as petulant.

"I know."

Well as long as Damen acknowledged that, Laurent thought. 

His eyes slipped shut when Damen's fingers moved up to tangle pleasantly in his hair.

Next time, he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This was partly written in response to the recent trend of people claiming that Damen's super vanilla. Don't tell me he hasn't experimented with a bunch of stuff in his past and couldn't be convinced to do so in the future. And the rest of the reason was just to finally try to write smut again. Yeah, not sure how well I managed that second part, tbh. Kink, yes. Smut? Eh...


End file.
